


This Road, Full of Mud

by moushkas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: bigbang_mixup, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sam in Hell, season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moushkas/pseuds/moushkas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been awhile since Dean had someone in his passenger seat. It's only been him, his Impala, and the open road. Then suddenly there is an angel in need of his help and Dean has a purpose again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Road, Full of Mud

**Author's Note:**

> For crazyfoolstiney and the incredible fanmix The Rambling
> 
> unfortunately half beta'd

**Prologue**

“It’s not even that bad.” Dean wasn’t sure who he was talking to, Sam whose life was slowly draining out of his body or himself. Regardless, he continued to repeat those words and hoped with all his heart that he was right. He could feel Sammy’s heart start to slow, his skin begin to chill. Sam’s eyes lost focus as they stared at Dean until they finally closed. Dean felt his heart physically break, the pain of it was heavy and unbearable. He held his brother tightly and felt the last of Sammy’s breath escape. 

He gripped his brother even after his body had turned cold. Bobby had to physically pull them apart so they could move the body into a nearby abandoned cabin. Dean never dropped Sammy’s hand, he gripped so tightly that he was sure a bone or two was cracking under the pressure.

Bobby was talking, rapid fire, staccato sentences that only a mad man would understand. Dean wasn’t listening. He could only see his baby brother, stiff on a moldy mattress in an abandoned house in the middle of no where. His mind echoed all the regrets he had for his brother. Because, Sammy deserved better than this fate. Sammy deserved a wife and children and dying at the ripe old age of 90. Dean should be the one dying in shack with very little people to mourn the loss.

The front door opened and Bobby walked in with a bucket of something. He seemed frantic, running high on adrenaline and food seemed to be his only comfort. Dean wondered how long Bobby had been out, how long Dean had been staring at his brother, “Dean,” He waived the food, “Brought you this back.”

“No thanks.” Dean stared at his brother’s lifeless body, “I’m fine.”

“You should eat something.” Bobby started again.

Dean rounded into the kitchen and reached for the bottle of half drunken whiskey, “I said I’m fine.”

He felt the burn down his throat, thankful to feel anything at all. Bobby heaved a sigh, “Dean,” He began, “I hate to bring this up but...don’t you think its time to bury him. Sam, I mean.”

Dean felt his grip tighten on the bottle. He wasn’t ready for this conversation. He looked at Bobby, “No.”

“Dean-” Bobby began in that same warm, scared voice he’d used when Dean got lost in the woods behind the junkyard when he was 13. Dean remembered Bobby holding him so tightly that he pressed into Bobby’s beer belly. He remembered the warmth in Bobby’s tone when he called him an idiot, how it made him feel like he was coming home.

He didn’t feel anything anymore, “What? You want me to torch his corpse? I’m not doing it, Bobby.”

“Fine,” Bobby sighed, “Then you’ll come with me. When were done-”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Dean growled.

“You can’t be alone, Dean.” Bobby’s hand moved forward as if to grip Dean’s shoulder but feel back to the rotting chair, “Something big is happening, Dean, and I could sure use your help stopping it.”

“I can’t do this.” Dean muttered.

Bobby snarled, leaning right up into Dean’s face, eyes cold and angry, “You let him go, Dean. You accept that he’s dead and move on with your life because that’s what Sam would want you to do. The world is gonna end unless we stop it.”

Dean felt the fury boil deep in his stomach. He had one job in his life and that was protecting Sam. His father always told him that was his job, his only job. Dean had failed his brother, allowed him to die. There wasn’t anything else for him now, “Let the world end!” 

Bobby’s shoulders slumped forward, weighted down by something Dean couldn’t understand, “You don’t mean that, boy.”

Dean heaved a sigh, “Don’t you think I’ve done enough, given enough. When is it going to be someone else’s turn. I’m done with this, all of this. And I’m done with you.”

It was heartbreak Dean saw in Bobby’s eyes. And the guilt made Dean want to throw up. He wanted to saw ‘sorry’, that he didn’t mean to hurt the only man who he could call father. But he didn’t, he turned around and collapsed into his chair. Bobby turned away and with a heavy, raspy voice he calmly said, “I won’t be far, if you change your mind.”

When Dean was a boy, Bobby was the second most terrifying man alive. He was a mass of muscle, fury and authority. But now he was nothing more than a weary, aging man with the world on his back. He lumbered out of the house like it was suddenly painful to walk and maybe that’s what Dean’s words had done to him. Dean had somehow broken the only man that ever supported him. 

But Dean couldn’t bring himself to care. He felt stripped, raw, and barren. He wondered, for the first time in his life, if he’d finally managed to be exactly like his father. It was a cold and cruel victory.

Sam only looked like he was sleeping, the moon lighting his face just right. Dean could imagine that peaceful five year old, the one full of questions and still ignorant of what they were, the boy without the demon blood.

“You know when we were five...” He swallowed the solid lump in his throat, “You started asking questions.” In a way, it was cathartic. It was all the things he was too afraid to tell Sammy, all the things he’d buried in his heart for years. He could feel his shoulders lighten with the release of his burdens, of his secrets. The thing that hurt the most was that he wasn’t sure what his role in life was now. He was there only to protect Sam and now, Sam was dead. He had no idea where to go from there, “I guess that’s what I do. I let down the people I love. I let Dad down. Now, I guess, I’m suppose to let you down, too.”

The tears burned the most. The burned beneath his eyes and all the way down his cheeks. They were heavy, hot, and salty. The purpose of them struck Dean to the core. He knew what he had to do, how he could save Sam and be successful at the one thing in his life.

It was easy to pull the right ingredients together. They’d been in the impala’s trunk since their tousle with the hellhounds. So he had no fear that a demon would show up once he’d buried the tin. It was only a matter of finding a crossroad and waiting. Of waiting and thinking of Sammy’s soul possibly rotting in hell because Dean failed to do his one job. The image of him being tortured beside their father made his stomach turn and more than once he had to vomit.

He didn’t want to think about Sam and John in hell, suffering for Dean’s mistakes. 

The crossroads Dean had chosen was an open field filled with life. The sound of crickets chirping in the tall grass, an owl hooting and the distant, and the sound of Dean’s own heavy breathing. It was more than he could stand.

“Show your face you bitch.” He shouted into the open area. It shouldn’t have taken this long for a demon to show. Dean knew he was a prized human soul, one the demons would love to seek revenge on. Why the bitch was waiting made no sense to him, he only grew angrier. 

“Easy sugar, you’ll wake the neighbors.” A sultry southern drawl laughed from behind him. Dean turned to find a beautiful woman in a sleek black dress grinning at him. Her eyes flashed blood red, signifying what she was but Dean didn’t need proof. He could smell her deceit and trickery from his place a few feet away from her. Her eyes returned to a soft brown, her whole body shuttered with pleasure, “Dean Winchester. It is so good to see you.”

Dean did not respond though he couldn’t find it in himself to look at her face. She knew why he was there, what his purpose was in seeking a thing like her out. From her knowing expressions, hell had been expecting it from him. She stepped closer, her hips shifting from side to side in an enticing dance but it only made Dean sicker. 

She circled him slowly, smelling the air around him, “You got your entire family killed. Poor orphan Dean, all alone in the world.” She paused, breathing in the air around his cheek. Dean tried not to flinch but his stomach roiled when he caught the smell of sulfur, “Forgive me, sometimes you have to stop and smell the little things.” 

For a moment, Dean imaged punching the woman square in the face, running back to the impala and grabbing a knife and killing her like his instincts told him to do. He even fantasized shove a dull knife into her chest repeatedly until she bleed out. He snarled, “I should kill you.”

She smiled, “You should,” she leaned in further, “But you won’t.”

She circled around him and he followed her, watching as her eyes measured him. She visibly shuttered again, pleasure clear in her eyes. He’d made women quiver before just from looks alone but she was the first to make him feel dirty about it. He turned fully to her, “Why do you say that?”

She took a deep breath, “Desperation is a good stench on you, Dean.” She smiled, “You follow in your father’s footsteps. The Winchester curse, I guess. You want to make a deal.” She rolled her shoulders, “Little Sammy back from the dead for the price of your soul, right?”

Dean grinned, he could play cocky, “This is prime real estate, babe. Any demon would kill to make this deal. My soul, Sammy back and in ten years you come get me.”

She laughed, bold and harsh in his face, “Why would I want to do this for you?”

“This is what you demons do.” Dean growled. His hands were clenching so tightly he could feel the skin breaking.

She smiled knowingly, “Sure, Dean. For good, healthy souls that will make a killing downstairs. We want souls with potential, with power.” She leaned forward, lips caressing Dean’s cheek, he shuttered violently, “Souls like your brother, Sammy.”

“Nine years,” He offered with a cold pit in his stomach. This deal wasn’t going the way he’d thought.

“No.”

“Eight.”

“No.”

“Five years.” Dean jumped down.

The demon pulled away and shook her head, pity filling her dark eyes, “You keep going down and I’ll keep saying ‘no’. No one wants your broken, tarnished soul, Dean. We want Sam’s. He’s exactly where we want him to be, as far away from you as possible.”

“Bitch.” Dean snarled, “Make the deal.”

“No.”

Blinded by rage, he latched onto the demon’s neck and squeezed hard. The demon only laughed. She opened her mouth as if to escape but Dean punched her squarely in the face. She fell to the ground, holding her nose. He snarled above her, “Listen you bitch, you’ll give me Sam back or I’ll kill you.”

“I give you Sam and they kill me, Dean.” She growled from the ground, “Face it. You lose. Sam is in hell and he’s staying there. You’re little orphan Dean who is just going to have to deal.”

Dean was happy to always keep a bottle of holy water handy. He threw it onto the demon and reveled in her agonized screams, “Make the deal.”

“No!” She cried, “Tough shit.”

Dean emptied the bottle onto her. While she writhed in pain he returned to the impala, retrieving one of Bobby’s exorcism books he’d borrowed the last time they were at the house. He turned to the right page, one not so well worn but would do the job.

The demon laughed, “Sending me back to hell? That’s really childish Dean.”

“In a way, yeah.” She frowned at him and he began to recite the latin. It was rusty and choppy but he was determined to finish. Her body ignited in red flames, seals appearing on her body. She screamed, fingers clawing at the marks angrily. When Dean stopped, she collapsed to the ground.

“W-what did you do to me?” She snarled.

Dean closed the book and tossed it back into the trunk. He pulled out a small revolver, one already filled with salt rounds, “You’re stuck in that body, feeling all the pain and agony like its yours. And,” He stepped closer, aiming the gun at her heart, “When I pull this trigger and this bullet goes through the heart, you’ll die.”

She laughed, “Rather childish of you.”

“Give me Sam back.” Dean shouted and pulled the trigger, shooting her in the shoulder.

She screamed, holding her hand against the wound, “I can’t.”

“Make the deal.” He shot her in the leg.

She cried again, “I can’t make the deal.”

“Why not?” Dean aimed the gun at her heart.

“Because this is what they had in mind all along.” She huffed, “And no one has given us the power to change that.” Dean stared at her, waiting for any sign that she was lying. She held the bleeding wounds, panting, “Two Winchesters dead and the other, the righteous one, alone on Earth, its everything we’ve ever dreamed of. Years of planning and finally we’ve crippled the biggest piece on the chess board. And no one will take that back.”

Dean stepped close, hovering over her and forcing her to look up at him. He aimed the gun at her heart, “Then you’ll all die.”

He pulled the trigger and the woman screamed aloud. Blood filled her mouth as she collapsed to the ground. Dean watched her blink up at him, eyes fading from deep red to dark brown and back. Her body began to convulse, pumping blood to an organ that was burning away inside her. Dean aimed the gun at her head and emptied the last two bullets into her forehead. 

He remained stoic, watching her die in front of him. The moment hit him, the cold truth that his Sammy was gone and nothing could bring him back. He screamed into the night sky, loud and full of the agony he felt deep in his bones. He collapsed to the ground and cried out all the tears he’d every had until finally his body could not produce anymore.

Instead he laid across the ground, staring up at the sky and wondering if he could kill himself. He had plenty of weapons stored in the Impala’s trunk and he was sure nobody would be able to stop him. But the energy to even think of how to do it made him tired. And Dean slept on the road, beside the dead demon body that was quickly turning to dust. 

He slept until just before sunrise, gathered his things and made sure the body was completely ash, salt and fire wood. He took the long way back to the abandoned house and thought of nothing.

Bobby was out in the fields when he returned. He was building a pyre and Sammy’s body was wrapped in a white cloth and resting on what he had gathered so far. It looked like an altar, one primed for baptismal with the white cloth and neatly piled wood. Bobby didn’t speak nor did he comment when Dean only stood off to the side and watched Bobby build the pyre.

When there was enough of a stack, Bobby spread gasoline and salt over Sam’s body. After he was satisfied he stood by Dean and waited. The two stood quietly, staring at the pyre. 

Bobby coughed to cover up what was sure to be tears and held his hand out to Dean, “I need your lighter.”

Dean hesitated before pulling the nondescript silver lighter from his back pocket. It held no sentimental value and Dean easily could part with it. But the idea of what it would be used for, what Bobby’s intentions were, Dean felt reluctant to give it up. Bobby’s words echoed in his mind, ones filled with sorrow and wise words of moving on. 

Dean placed the lighter in his hand and watched Bobby start the flame. He sighed heavily, “We love you, Sam.”

Bobby tossed the lighter onto the pile of wood and watched the flames grow fast and steady. Dean watched quietly and hoped that Sam wasn’t in hell. The demon never said he was only that the Winchesters were separated. There whole plan was to break the family apart and they had succeeded, Dean had let them.

Bobby turned to Dean, “Don’t let the grief consume you. Give it time but not all of it.”

Spoken like a man who had been through it all before and come out the other side moderately well adjusted. He gripped Dean’s shoulder tightly, rubbing his fingers into Dean’s tense muscles before he finally let go and walked back into the house. Dean watched the fire until it was nothing more than ashes and embers. 

He pulled the shovel from the Impala’s trunk and dug a sizable grave for all the ashes. By the time he was finished, it was nightfall and he had to scoop the ashes into the hole in pitch black darkness. When the ashes were cleared from above ground, he began to put the dirt back. He felt tears streaming down his face, mixing with sweat as they fell to the fresh dirt. He patted the ground until it was flat then fell to it, stretching his lean body across the grave.

“Please forgive me Sammy.” A cold wind brushed through him and Dean shivered, feeling the cold sweat on his shirt. He didn’t rise until Bobby came outside again, carrying a makeshift cross. Bobby pressed it into the ground at the head of the grave and waited for Dean. He moved subtly, sparing a quick and mournful kiss to the ground before he got to his feet.

Bobby heaved a great sigh, “You need to shower. And we need to go after that bastard.”

*  
Dean had no idea how lonely it was inside the Impala. Bobby was there, Bobby would be there for awhile, but as the head of a hunter base, he was always on the phone. He got one call after another and took notes with each phone call. They were senseless conversations that Dean couldn’t follow. So his only choice was to drive and try not to think. Bobby shut his phone several hours later and sighed, “Well, I think I have something.”

“What?”

“There’s signs all over, storms, demon sightings, ritual slaughters,” Bobby sighed, marking things down on a makeshift map that had come from somewhere in the depths of the impala’s backseat.

“Doesn’t sound good, Bobby.”

“The signs are everywhere except for a five mile radius in Wyoming.” Bobby circled an area with his pen, “It’s like...demons are surrounding it.”

“What’s out there?”

“Who the hell knows, but I bet that bastard is out there.” Bobby folded the map. He patted Dean on the shoulder and rubbed it tightly, “Let’s make a pit stop at the yard. We need supplies.”

They were a half hour out and Dean was relieved to get someplace he knew, someplace he could drink away the pain and pass out for awhile. The drive was quiet and when they got back to the house, Ellen was waiting at the door. Dean barely had the car turned off before he was running to her, gripping her tight in his arms. She was warm and solid against him, an anchor back into reality. 

They collapsed around the dinner table, Ellen was still shaking. Bobby poured holy water from a flask inside his pocket into a shot glass and slide it across the table to Ellen. She sighed, “Is this necessary?”

“It’s just holy water.” He muttered.   
She heaved a giant sight, gripped the glass tightly in her hands and swallowed it all down. She looked him in the eyes, serious and confident, “Whiskey, please.”

Ellen seemed shaken but two more shots of whiskey had her retelling the fire at the Roadhouse. She pulled out a map of Wyoming from inside her jacket and spread it across the table. Dean immediately recognized it as the place Bobby had circled on the larger map, “What does this mean?”

Bobby stroked his thick beard and traced his fingers across the markings on the map, “Well, here are some old frontier churches.” He pointed to the five ‘x’s on the map. He then took a sharpie and drew lines connecting the ‘x’s, “And here are old railways all made by one man, Samuel Colt.”

Dean frowned, “You mean the same colt that made The Colt.”

“The very same bastard,” Bobby heaved a sigh, “It creates a giant Devil’s Trap but it keeps them out, rather than in.” He pointed to the center of the pentagram, “But we don’t know what that is.”

Ellen interrupted, pointing to a cross faded on the map, “It’s a gravesite.” 

“A gravesite that demons are circling.” Bobby sat down on the chair beside Ellen, “The demons can’t cross iron but they’re trying to get in.”

“What do you think is in there?” Ellen frowned, “I mean, it’s a cowboy grave, nothing new has been buried there for over a hundred years.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Dean stood up, “That’s where the Yellow Eyed Demon is going to be, that’s where we’re going.”

Ellen stood up, “What are we waiting for then.”

*

Wyoming at night wasn’t hot like Dean imagined. Being in the desert, he imagined the nights to be just as unbearable as the days. But Wyoming at night was just as cold as Kansas at night. Or maybe that was the grief Dean still could not swallow. 

The bastard that had killed Sammy was slowly walking past him, worn boots crunching the twigs and stones along the ground. Dean wanted to shoot him in the face but he waited for the signal from Bobby. He was currently trying to hide behind the tree and he leaned over just a little to watch the man approach the coliseum in the center of the graveyard. 

The tall kid stood in front of the wide doors, tracing the strange patterns in front of him. He pulled something from his pocket and pressed it into the door, in a hole shaped perfectly for the muzzle of a gun. Dean rounded the tree and pointed his own weapon at the man, “Guess who?”

Bobby and Ellen come out of their own hiding place. The man raised his large hands in the air, “I guess you got me, right? Come to shoot the man that took your brother?” Dean frowned and set his gun. The man smirked with the audible click of the bullet settling in to fire, “You think a gun is going to stop me?”

“Yeah,” Dean pressed his finger against the trigger, “Yeah, I think so.”

The man grinned, “You’re too late anyway.”

He stepped away to reveal the door opening behind them, a rush of wind and heat rushed from the old and rusted doors. Something breezed passed them, something dark and terrifying. It flew past Dean and straight towards the edges of the railings. Something rumbled beneath their feet, in the distance something exploded. The ground shook and the group stumbled to catch their footing. The world shook once more before settling, the man laughing darkly in front of Dean.

“The churches,” Bobby muttered. He and Ellen looked to the door, shadows and entities falling out of the open space.

“It’s a door to hell!” Ellen shouted, “We have to close it.”

The man smiled, “Good luck.”

Bobby and Ellen ran to the door ant attempted to close it, pushing against the solid metal doors as hard as they could. Dean held his gun to the man, “What did you do?”

He shrugged, “What I was born to do.”

Dean pulled the trigger, squeezing it tightly and feeling the recoil as the bullet left the gun. It struck the man in the chest and he collapsed to the ground. Dean stood above him and watched the man struggle to breath, “That’s for my brother, you son of bitch.”

He emptied the magazine into the man, making sure he was clearly dead. Bobby shouted from the door, “Dean, a little help?”

Dean turned to them and stumbled over the loose dirt to get to the door. A forced gripped him tightly, clutched his center and threw him backwards. The gun flew from his hand as his head hit a gravestone. He felt sick and disoriented but the chill of a familiar demon slowly grounded him.

“Well, well if it isn’t little orphan Dean,” The worn down vessel of Azazel, the yellow eyed demon, stood in front of him. He smiled crookedly, his vessel seemed pinched and stretched. He kneeled down in front of Dean, “Mommy left you, Daddy left you, hell, even your brother is having a good ol’ time in hell without you.”

“Bastard.” Dean tried to move his limbs, tried to reach out and strangle them man.

The demon laughed, “Yep, I am a bastard and your family fell right into our plans. Little Dean Winchester is finally alone on Earth. How the mighty have fallen.”

Dean flinched, “I can still kick your ass.”

The man chuckled darkly to himself, tapping Dean’s booted foot, “Maybe, but a war is coming and you’re fighting at 25 percent strength, kiddo.”

There was an audible click, Dean turned to find Bobby with the Gun. Ellen was still struggling with the door, a wisp of a shadow beside her, pushing at the door. Dean squinted, trying to recognize the dark shadow. The yellow eyed demon waived his hand, but Bobby was faster. He tossed the gun towards Dean who caught it easily and aimed it at the demon.

“This is for my family,” He squeezed the trigger and watched the bullet fire into the demon’s chest. The sound of something breaking, falling apart inside the fragile human body relaxed something in Dean. He collapsed to the ground, the life burning up inside the body. Dean fell back against the tombstone, a part of him relieved. He heard the door shut, Bobby calling for him from the door but Dean closed his eyes and welcomed sleep.

 

**Chapter One.**

The road was quiet and desolate, nothing but harsh pavement and rows of corn. Dean wasn’t sure where he was at this point and only the moon in the sky told him he was driving at night. The hard liquor that sat heavy in his stomach created an easy haze that made him forget where he was. His phone buzzed in his pocket but Dean ignored it.

He was sure it was Bobby with another hunt and Dean just wasn’t in the mood.

Dean was in the mood for more liquor and maybe some rough sex. But first, there was probably a hunt and nothing got the juices flowing like shooting something bloody. When he saw the lights of a town in the distance, he felt just a little bit excited.

He found a shitty motel across from a dirty bar and felt at home. He was rarely at peace in the several months after Sam’s death and the opening of Hell’s Gate and he would never really be perfectly serene. But the prospects of liquor and a familiar setting allowed him to breath even just a little bit. He was relaxed enough to take out his phone and listen to Bobby’s message.

The voice was grainy and cut out a little bit which meant Bobby was somewhere on the road too. He could hear Ellen’s angry voice muffled in the background and it made Dean laugh just a little. Bobby was talking about strange demon signs over Indiana, some concentration that flooded into Illinois and that Dean was the closest hunter. 

Dean wondered where he was, how close he might be to these supposed signs. He bypassed the motel and entered the bar. It was dark and smokey inside the bar, filled to the brim with overtly sexual women and dangerous looking men. 

Dean approached the bar with a proud smile. The woman at the bar was just a little meaty, covered in worn Aerosmith tee shirt and a weary smile. Her long brunette curls were held in a high ponytail and she stared at Dean with dark brown eyes, “What can I get you?”

Dean smiled falling into a familiar and rehearsed routine, “How about your number, sweetheart?”

The woman rolled her eyes and waived her left hand at him. A simple diamond ring caught his eye, “My husband won’t like it, handsome. What can I get you to drink?”

He sighed, “How about a shot of whiskey straight. And tell me where I am?”

“You’re in Pontiac.” She pulled out a tumblr glasses and plopped two ice cubes in it. She pulled the amber liquor from the top shelf and poured slowly. She watched his confused face for a moment before sighing, “Illinois, handsome.”

He groaned, “God, I think I was in Texas last night.”

“Then what are you doing here? Go to bed.” She responded with an edge of exasperation, “There’s a motel across the street. You’ll feel good in a couple of hours.”

He laughed as he took the whiskey in one gulp, “I haven’t felt good in awhile.” There was an audible pause where country music filtered into Dean’s awareness. It was clear the bartender was looking for an explanation. Instead of giving one that would open wounds, he changed the subject, “Have you noticed any strange storms around here? Lights flickering or a rotten egg smell?”

She gave him a strange, sour expression before shaking her head, her small gold hoops swaying back and forth against her rounded cheeks, “Not really. We did have some shooting stars last night. I think a tree in town caught on fire.”

Dean nodded, not the kind of things that are demon like so Dean decided sleep may be a better decision for him. He passed the empty glass back towards the bartender, “Guess you can’t point me to the easiest girl in the room.”

She snorted, “I like you but no, you’ve gotta try a little.”

“You remind me of someone.” He smiled and held out his hand, “Dean.”

She took it, “Amina. Now, how about you take that tight ass back to the motel across the street and go to sleep?”

He grinned, “Okay, but you won’t stop me tomorrow night.”

She winked, “Alright, handsome.”

Dean grinned and stepped outside, taking in the fresh air. He let the whiskey settle in his stomach as he walked across the road to the motel. The sound of the door closing behind him caught his attention, the noise from the bar filtered into the open momentarily before it was closed again. Dean turned back towards the bar but saw nothing. 

He stared at the closed door for a second, feeling the electricity in the air. It smelled like lightning before it struck the ground. A zap of something ancient and powerful chilled his spin and set him on edge. With no one around him, Dean visibly shook himself and retreated the motel quickly.

***

Dean only got a few good hours of sleep before his phone was ringing. Half awake, Dean flipped open his phone, “Hello?”

“Dean, good,” It was Ellen, sounding frantic, “Where are you?”

Dean groaned, “Pontiac, IL. Bobby said something about demon signs.”

There were a few muffled sounds from the other end of the line before Ellen was shouting into the phone, “Dean, we have a problem out here in California.”

“Okay...” He sat up, hearing gunshots and latin in the distance, “Do you need me to get there?”

“No, we’ve got Jo,” Ellen must have stepped into a building because her voice was suddenly clear, the background noise was gone, “Bobby saw some meteor showers over Illinois and a massive electrical storm over some farms in Indiana.”

“There’s nothing else, Ellen.” Dean sighed, “There wasn’t any signs.”

“Well, something is out there, Dean.” Ellen snarled into the phone, “Call me when you figure it out.”

And she loudly disconnected the phone. Dean sighed and moved to take a shower. He’d go to library and do some research and if nothing happened, he’d move on to California.

***

There certainly wasn’t a demon but there was two ghosts in the basement of some poor family’s ranch house. Soar and smelling of salt rounds, Dean went back to the bar in hopes of some attention from a woman. There was a lot of pent up frustration and a night between a pretty lady’s leg was just the way to get rid of it.

The bar was just as busy as the previous night and Amina was at the bar again. Another man was behind the bar with her, a burly man with incredibly blonde hair and ice blue eyes. The man watched Dean with a skeptic look, the kind of look a jealous husband had when looking at competition. Amina caught sight of him and guided him over to the bar, “Dean, come here.”

Dean approached the bar with a weary smile, “Hey Amina.”

She pointed to a muscular blonde woman sitting at the edge of the bar in a jean skirt and tank top. The woman looked happy enough that she wouldn’t turn down a little attention. Her ice blue eyes glanced his way and smiled shyly.

“You’re sweet, Amina.” He laughed.

“You look like you’re in a better mood.” She grinned and poured some whiskey for him and some clear liquid in another glass. She gestured towards the girl with an encouraging smile.

He moved, mustering all of the pride and charm he could. He glanced around the bar, eyes falling to one single table. Dean froze in place, body visibly shuddering from some unknown chill. The heated scent of electricity filled the air around him, pulling him towards something just beyond the edges of his vision.

There was a man at the edges of his focus, someone with dark hair and blue eyes. Dean shook the feeling and approached the woman. She smiled gratefully up at him, “Hey.”

Dean returned with his charming smile, “Hi, you alone?”

“Hopefully not for much longer.” She smiled. Dean took his seat beside her and began the familiar dance of seduction. He recognized apart of him was uninterested and hardly trying while most of her was desperately reaching out. His body couldn’t shake the chill and it distracted him from being fully involved in the signals she was giving out.

“Hey,” She took his hand, “Wanna get out of here?”

He had finished his drink and her’s was half empty. She pulled him from the chair and guided him outside. When they exited the bar she pushed him up against the wall and pressed a kiss to his lips. Dean hesitated only for a minute, pressing his hands against her curvy hips and pushing into the kiss. She moaned enthusiastically and pressed deeper into him.

When they both pulled back for air, her lips were wet and puffy, her eyes were dark with lust. She pulled him down to the side of the building, pressing him against the wall when she felt the need to kiss him again. He pressed her up against the wall and nibbled at her neck. Her head fell to the side, giving him more space when suddenly she froze. Her hands went from stroking his shoulders to pushing him away.

She coughed audibly, “Um...your friend was not invited.”

Dean frowned, “I don’t have any friends.”

He followed her sight to a man that was standing close to the entrance of the bar. Dean moved away from the woman, eyes finding the electric blue of the stranger. That same gut wrenching feeling of pure power struck Dean. The man stepped forward and a wave of electricity shot up his spine. 

The woman snorted, “I don’t do curious couples, sweetheart.”

She patted him on the shoulder, corrected her clothing and made her way passed the strange man and back into the bar. Dean wanted to bash his head against the wall but instead he turned the frustration on the man at the end of the open area.

The man was all wild dark hair and bright blue eyes. His slight frame was covered by a boxy trench coat and some poor fitting suit. His tie was askew like it had been whipped around by the wind. The man heaved a heavy sigh, like all of his strength needed to be suddenly focused and he took a heavy step forward.

Despite his instincts tell him to run, Dean called him out, “You owe me an orgasm, dude.”

The steps were heavy, labored like breathing but the man’s face remained stoic and fierce. Dean felt himself pushed back, a weight pressed against his front to where Dean could have fallen to his knees, that is if he hadn’t been pressing all of his strength against a wall.

“Who are you?” Dean felt panicked, “Did you hear what I said, asshole?”

The man was before him before speaking and what came out struck a burning heat deep in his gut, eliciting a full erection underneath his jeans. He nearly doubled over from the waive of heat as the man whispered with a gravelly voice, “My name is Castiel.”

Dean exhaled slowly and tried to ignore the sharp edges of an impending orgasm burn through him. He gripped the wall tightly, “Yeah, well, you ruined a prospective date.”

“Our business is more important.” Castiel’s voice lowered sharply and Dean gasped as his balls clenched with the sound.

Dean huffed, “Okay, what business?”

Castiel stepped close and the smell of heat circled him. His hips twitched of their own accord toward the strange man. The man tipped his head to the side, eyes so darkly focused on Dean that nothing seemed to break his concentration. Starring down those wide blue eyes, Dean felt on the edge of something and it terrified him. Castiel inhaled deeply and whispered, “I am an angel.”

There was a beat, one filled with tension before Dean snorted and pulled away from the man. He felt the burden of distancing himself from the man, the chill of the space between them. He allowed his own underused and hollow laugh to pull him out of the sudden funk, “An angel? Where’s your halo?”

The man narrowed his eyes, something like righteous flames filled his eyes, “It’s not corporeal. You are the hunter Dean Winchester, yes?”

Dean frowned, “You’re a demon aren’t you?”

He reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling the flask of holy water out and splashing some on the man. In only seemed to irritate the man. Dean fumbled for the gun in his back pocket. It wasn’t the colt which was kept in the trunk of his car, but it was silver bullets filled with salt rounds. He fired two shots into Castiel’s shoulder but it hardly seemed to phase the man.

Castiel stepped closer, one hand reaching out for Dean. He felt the need to pull away, something in him wrenching tightly at the prospect of this strange man touching him. However, Castiel was too fast and his thin fingers gripped on Dean’s forearm.

The feeling was instantaneous, a sharp burn enveloped him. The edges of his vision faded into something bright. He knew he came in his pants and the pleasured shock of it nearly made him cum again. He gasped audibly and leaned forward into the leaner man. Castiel bent forward, voice caressing his ear with his hot breath. The aftershocks of Dean’s orgasm shuddered violent with each puff of his breath, “Take me to my grace and I will show you.”

**Chapter Two.**

 

Dean didn’t sleep that night, which wasn’t much of a surprise. The supposed angel had perched himself on the edge of the bed and stared at Dean the entire night. Even if Dean had felt tired, the endless stare from the stranger would have kept him awake all night. The guy was unassuming enough with his oversized trench coat and messy suit. But Dean couldn’t help but feel perturbed under the endlessly blue gaze.

“Castiel?” Dean had created a clear distance from himself and the man despite the tiny size of the room. He was near his bag that rested on the desk, the one filled with loaded guns and sharp knives.

The man nodded, “Yes.”

“An angel named Castiel?” Dean raised an eyebrow at the man. 

The man nodded again, “That is the name father gave me.”  
Dean rolled his eyes, “What are you smoking?”

The man’s eyes narrowed tightly, blue eyes darkened beneath the harsh light of the motel, “I am not smoking anything. I am an angel of the lord, I do not feel the need to inhale.”

Dean rubbed his eyes, “Then you’re drunk.”

“Angels can not become intoxicated.” Castiel’s large hands rested stiffly on his thighs, back ramrod straight and eyes narrowed at Dean.

He brushed a hand through his hair, “This is some Dogma shit right here.” The man titled his head in slight confusion before Dean waved his hand around. The man must be crazy if he didn’t know Dogma, “Never mind, if you are an angel, what are you doing here?”

Castiel rotated his shoulders, “I fell.”

“You fell?”

“There was a quake in heaven,” Castiel’s hands moved as if they were going to reenact his situation, “Something shook us and suddenly I was falling in the sky. Something struck me and my grace was ripped from me. I have been trying to find assistance. My brothers use to speak of humans that were tuned into the supernatural, that they would help me find my grace. You, Dean Winchester.”

Dean snorted, “You’re looking for a hunter? To find your grace? And you came after me?”

“Your name resonates in heaven and your soul is very bright.” Castiel stood then, his hands reaching for Dean, eyes seeing through him, “I feel very drawn to it.”

Dean batted the hands away, “Listen, psycho, there will be no heavenly groping of the soul, got it? And I’m not about to go on some holy mission for some guy who thinks he’s an angel.”

Castiel’s face became pinched, something like frustration filling the rather emotionless expression, “I am an angel, Dean Winchester.”

“Okay,” Dean sighed heavily, slapping a hand against his thigh.

“You help people, save people.” Castiel stood stiffly, a ripple of something strange in an otherwise boring apartment, “I need your help.”

Dean sighed, “Fine, fine, okay. If I don’t find your grace, I’m finding you a crazy house.” Castiel pouted, full red lips jutting out in a ridiculous pout. However, he remained quiet, choosing to retreat back to the bed where he sat stiffly. Dean rubbed as his temples, “So, your grace...”

“It is my essence,” Castiel commented dryly, eyes traveling the peeling wallpaper, “I need it to get back to heaven.”

“Okay.” Dean huffed after a moment, “I need a drink.”

Castiel glared, “Why is this hard for you to understand?”

Dean laughed, “Because angels don’t exist and God doesn’t care.”

The man was back in Dean’s space, eyes a bright blue and full of power. The tiny room seemed void of air, replaced by the expanse of Castiel. Dean felt his instincts kick in, screaming at him to get away. That is, until the sound of his phone interrupted the building tension. Castiel’s intense blue eyes glanced down to his jean pocket, “That is your Bobby Singer, pick it up.”

Castiel and his soul sucking power moved away from Dean. He gulped in air like he’d been holding his breath for hours and answered the phone quickly, “Bobby?”

“Hey, kid.” Bobby’s gruff voice filtered through the poor connection. Castiel’s thin fingers grazed along the worn curtains before moving back to the bed, “You catch whiff of anything?”

Dean glanced at the angel who sat upright on the bed, glaring at the television, “You could say that?”

“A demon?”

“Um...” Dean turned away from Castiel and scratched the back of his head, “What do you know about angels?”

There was a silence that terrified Dean, a moment where he could here his own heartbeat before Bobby began laughing. Dean rolled his eyes and waited for Bobby to stop laughing. When the other line calmed down, Ellen took over the phone, “What’s got him all riled up?”

“I asked about angels.” Dean sighed, “I think one found me.”

Ellen was quiet as well, only the sound of shuffled pages were heard in the background, “In Illinois?”

“Yeah, Pontiac.” Dean turned to the notepad on top of the desk.

“Okay,” Ellen, straight to business, “Yesterday, there were clouds over Northern Illinois, the winds picked up and apparently there was some flash floods in Chicago. Then, over Indiana, there was a comet that hit a corn field.”

“A comet?” Dean said out loud. Castiel stiffened visibly on the bed. Dean caught the movement, “Where, Ellen?”

“Somewhere in Newton county. The report says a tree caught on fire and its still burning.” Castiel stood abruptly and circled Dean, stepping in close with a dark look. Dean tried to pull away but found it difficult.

“Cas....” Dean whispered.

“Cas?” Ellen questioned, “Dean, do you have a girl in your room? I swear to God...”

“No, Ellen,” Dean sighed, “It’s the angel, Castiel.”

“Castiel?” Ellen exhaled into the phone, “An angel? This is amazing, Dean. What does he look like?”

“They have found my grace?” Castiel announced quietly, eyes piercing into Dean’s. His strong chin jutted forward in something close to determination. Dean nodded, feeling something burn low in his gut.

“Nerdy,” Dean coughed and tried not to catch a whiff of the electric scent, “You wanna give me directions to the farm.”

Ellen rambled on about the apple farm in Indiana that complained about the tree that was still burning. Castiel seemed anxious to move but the reality of his situation hit him hard. When he finally disconnected with Ellen, he felt drained of everything.

“Dean?” Castiel frowned, “Are you ready to go?”

Dean placed his hand on the angel’s shoulder and side, “Cas, I need sleep, just a couple of hours. And then we can go find your grace.” Castiel raised an eyebrow but Dean ignored it, pushing him out of the way so Dean could collapse on the bed. Castiel stood awkwardly in the hotel room, feet shuffling from one foot to the other. Dean groaned, “Cas, sleep or something.”

“Angels do not require rest.” Castiel frowned. Dean, however, ignored him, choosing to strip off his shoes with his own toes and find a comfortable position, one where he could ignore the daylight outside.

“Well humans do,” Dean sighed, “So stop being annoying for a couple of hours, alright?”

The angel must have felt Dean’s frustration as he quietly sat at the edge of the bed. He slowly moved into a lying position beside Dean and relaxed against the worn mattress. Dean finally fell asleep with the hot puffs of Castiel breathing across his face.

*

Dean was awake an hour before check-out time and was ready to get on the road just one quick shower later. Castiel dutifully waited for him and followed him to the motel office. The older gentlemen watched Castiel closely, a sour faced look that Dean recognized as something akin to homophobia. For some odd reason, Dean was irritated with the clerks reaction to Castiel, something burned in him.

After Dean returned the keys, he stepped over to Castiel and placed his hand on the angel’s rear. Dean swallowed the flash of heat he felt when his fingers pressed against the taught muscles, “Come on, babe, let’s get out of here.”

Castiel’s eyes merely widened slightly as he turned around and faced the parking lot. Dean heard the man muttered something derogatory so Dean threw his middle finger into the air behind him. There was a flush across Castiel’s pale face, his blue eyes focused on Dean in a way that swallowed Dean whole.

“Dean,” Castiel muttered, “What are you doing?”

Dean shrugged. He didn’t really know himself. He only felt the necessity of grabbing Castiel’s ass and calling him pet names. He tried not to think more on the subject and instead focused on the joy that was introducing the angel to his baby, “Pissing the guy off. Now, let me introduce you to Impala.”

Castiel stared at the dark car, pale fingers stroked the side of the black car, expression reverent. Castiel pulled the door open and slowly eased into the passenger seat, “There is love in this vehicle.”

Dean gave him a strange look as he got into the driver’s seat, “Uh...sure, Cas. Is that an angel thing?”

Castiel’s hand touched the dashboard and then the door, “Angels are drawn to love. We are beings of love and thus feel closest to things that emulate love.”

Dean snorted and turned the car on, “Okay, Cas. You’re a bunch of hippies. Now, let’s go get your grace.”

Castiel relaxed into the seat as Dean hit the road. The endless yellow lines against worn pavement calmed Dean. It was an hour into traveling when Dean realized he’d not once thought of Sam’s dead body. In fact, Dean had only really thought of the angel at his side and how Sam was a much better passenger.

“So,” Dean murmured to Castiel who was staring at the endless fields before them, “Will you know its your grace right away?”

Castiel turned to Dean with solid eyes, “I will feel it call to me, yes.”

Dean nodded, “Okay and then what, you’ll fly back home?”

Castiel’s face became pinched in thought, “Yes. I will be welcomed back to my family once my grace is restored.”

Dean snorted, “You family doesn’t love you without your grace?”

“My family does not recognize me without my grace.” Castiel responded, voice hollow with something like pain. Dean felt the urge to touch the angel, to comfort him but Dean continues to drive and allows the silence to fill the space between them.

Several miles later, Dean finally had the courage to speak again, “So, you fell off a cloud?”

Castiel gave him a look that could only be labeled as irritated, “I was shook from heaven, Dean. I had very little memory before falling through the sky.”

“Alright,” Dean shrugged, “I’m sorry for bringing it up. But, I think I know what happened.”

“The devil’s gate,” Castiel mentioned before Dean could begin. His face was ageless and weighted at the same time, like eons of knowledge weighed him down but it never stopped surprising him, “I know, Dean.”

Nothing more was said but Dean wasn’t bothered. He turned his music on low and listened to Jimmy Page croon about the road. Castiel’s focus moved to the tree line, watching as they slowly became flatlands and then fields of corn and wheat. Before Dean realized it, they were at Hebron, Indiana, getting a single hotel room.

“Two singles or a queen,” The motel owner sighed over his worn computer. Dean truly hesitated, looking back at Castiel who was glancing at a pamphlet for Gary, Indiana. 

Dean turned back to the clerk with a hesitant grin, “Uh...a queen.”

The motel owner hardly reacted, grabbing a key from the wall and handing it to Dean without any more question. Dean gave him the credit card then signed the receipt quickly. He pulled Cas to their room and hoped his face wasn’t too red.

“Very practical,” Castiel announced when they entered the room to a large queen sized bed and a single desk in the corner. Castiel eased into the single chair and stared at the door. He heaved a large breath, his shoulders rolling as if he was easing a great weight from them, “I can feel...”

Dean raised his hand, “If you finish that sentence with ‘love’, I’m going to throw up.” Castiel gave him a confused look but Dean waived it away, “Look, you want to go to the farm now or sleep some?” 

Castiel’s fingers brushed along the wood grain without speaking, face soft and eyes electric blue. Dean realized he’d been holding his breath, anxious to hear Castiel speak, to announce how readily Castiel was to leave him. Only Castiel didn’t respond in the way Dean though, “I would like something to eat, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t stop himself from smiling, “Alright, I saw a burger joint a couple of miles back.”  
 Castiel followed dutifully and maybe with a slight skip in his step that Dean did not catch.

*

Again, the drive was comfortable, The Allman Brothers filling the void with their easy guitar rift. Castiel was stiff in his seat, watching the endless open fields but his fingers moved along his dress pants like he was nervous. Dean himself was trying to ignore the building anxiety in his gut by drumming his hands on the steering wheel.

They’d spent the evening at the burger joint then retreated to the motel where Dean introduced Cas to cartoons. Castiel watched with rapt attention while Dean slowly fell asleep on the bed. For the first time in years, decades, Dean slept through the night and woke after sunrise the next day. Castiel was perched at the edge of the bed, turned as if he’d just been watching Dean. 

They had hit the road quickly after Dean’s shower, grabbing breakfast burritos from some fast food joint on their way to the farm. Now, as the distance between homes grew and it was obvious there were more farms around, Dean grew nervous. 

He rolled down the windows, catching the smell of fresh air and farm animals, “Do you like the windows down?”

Castiel leaned his head back, “Yes. I feel it, my grace.”

Dean tried to hid the disappointment. They turned along a roadside just as Bad Company and they’re upbeat ‘love em and leave em’ song began to play. Dean wanted to cut the music right there and chuck his mixtape out the window but the sight through his dashboard left him shocked.

An apple tree sat towards the end of a wide open field. The metal fencing around the tree appeared to be keeping some sort of livestock inside. There wasn’t a house around the area which meant this tree was at the very distant edge of someone’s property. 

The tree itself was large with a wide trunk base and several branches reaching high into the sky. However, the entirety of the tree was on fire, sharp blue at the base and reaching up into an eery white. Dean pulled off to the side of the road and turned to Castiel.

“Is that your grace?”

Castiel nodded, chest rising and falling rapidly, like he was gasping for breath. He whispered, “Yes.”

Dean waited a beat for Castiel to move but the angel never did. Instead, Dean moved out of the car, circled the front, and yanked Castiel out of the passenger’s seat. Castiel did not drop his hand, nor did he approach the tree of his own free will. Dean dragged him to the tree by the hand until they reached the edges of the fence. He turned to Castiel, “What now?”

The angel stared at the endless flames, eyes wide, “I...” He hesitated, “I must touch it.”

Dean nodded and slowly took off his jacket, dropping Castiel’s hand to do so. He laid the thick leather over the barbed wire, “Then let’s go.”

He placed his hands on the leather jacket, spreading them wide enough that they were not touching where the wire was. He pushed down with all his weight and picked both legs up and over the wire with a very coordinated jump. He looked to Castiel who latched onto his should for balance and clumsily stepped over the wire. 

Castiel gripped Dean’s shoulder tightly and stared at the tree. Dean smiled encouragingly and stepped forward. There was no heat coming from the flames, nothing to indicate that the tree was actually burning. Dean reached out to touch the flame with an open palm shocked at the way it tickled across his skin. 

Castiel gasped beside him, his face flushed and pupils blown wide. Dean pulled his hand back, “Cas?”

Castiel exhaled, shoulders slack, “It’s my grace.”

Dean blushed darkly once he’d though more deeply. With the way Castiel was breathing deeply, Dean could imagine he’d just caressed his soul, that even if Dean hadn’t meant the move to be sexual, Cas was excited from it. A part of Dean was incredibly turned on by that. Instead he pushed Castiel forward, “Well, quit stalling.”

Castiel shuffled forward and reached one hand towards the flame. The blue and yellow gathered around his hand, drawn to their owner. Castiel looked back at Dean, eyes still clouded with something dark and wanting, “Dean?”

Dean shrugged and tried to not let the hurt he felt seep into his voice, “I’ll miss ya, I guess. But your family is waiting for you.”

Castiel nodded softly and placed his hand against the tree. Something high pitched began, irritating Dean’s ears but he persevered. The winds began to pick up, whipping around Dean and Cas. The fire exploded into a bright light and it engulfed Castiel. Dean was forced to cover his eyes and ears, the sound of something high pitched burned through his ears until a force threw him from his feet. He landed in a patch of worn grass and laid there until the noise died down. 

He was just a little bit afraid to open his eyes, to find a completely empty field without Castiel. However, Dean was a grown man and he had to face his fears. He slowly opened his eyes and felt the sinking hole of disappointment when the tree was full of life and no mysterious man was standing near it. He sat up with a heavy sigh and tried not to feel the myriad of emotions weighing down on his heart.

Deep red apples grew from between green leaves, the trunk appeared sturdy and powerful despite being on fire for who knew how long. Dean remained in his sitting place, watching the tree and feeling the breeze at his neck. His eyes moved from the tasty looking apples to the bright blue sky. He fell to his back and soaked in the smell of freshness, of a bright and sunny day.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s deep, scratchy voice came from above him. Dean’s eyes went from seeing the cloudless sky to the angel’s deep blue eyes as he hovered over Dean.

Dean could not contain the gasp that escaped him, “Cas?” He leapt to his feet and took the angel into his arms, “Holy shit, what happened? Why are you back?”

Castiel’s face was stern look, narrowed eyes and a deep frown crossed his handsome features. Dean chose to ignore his mind’s assessment of Castiel. The angel looked to the sky before staring back at Dean, “I was on my way up there and then I found myself back down here.”

Dean frowned, “What?”

Castiel looked even more upset that he had to explain himself again, “I could not enter Heaven. I do not know why.”

Dean tried not to be happy nor did he try to think that he was still gripping Castiel tightly. He lowered his hands slowly, fingers brushing against the edges of the trench coat, “I’m sorry, Cas. Do you know why?”

Castiel shrugged his shoulders, “I cannot see why. Maybe Father wants me to be on Earth for awhile.”

“Soak up the locals for awhile, maybe?” Dean smiled encouragingly. Castiel’s slack face and wide eyes was enough to encourage Dean to take the next step. He swung Castiel towards his car and wrapped one arm around the large shoulder, “Well, nothing better then seeing the world from the passenger seat of a Winchester car, right?”

“I would be honored if you let me travel with you, Dean.” Castiel seemed to lean in just a little towards Dean. His sharp eyes focused on something deeper than Dean’s face. He shifted uncomfortably then pushed Castiel into the passenger seat. The angel curled himself into the seat, fingers reverently brushing against the door frame.

Dean gulped audibly and willed away the burn of heat in his belly and circled to the driver’s side. He slid into the driver’s seat with a newly put upon cocky grin, “So where to?”

Castiel’s eyes followed the body of the vehicle, “I do not know.”

Dean felt his muscles ease as he took hold of the worn steering wheel of the impala, “The empty road it is then.”

*

Driving with a partner again was uncomfortable at first, especially because the partner wasn’t Sam. Castiel, for being some all powerful being, was stiff and quiet in the passenger seat, awestruck by the scenery around them. When Dean flipped on the radio, Castiel faced the dashboard with wide blue eyes.

“It’s the radio.” Dean responded, enjoying the childish nature of the angel, “It plays music.”

“Music.” Castiel responded quietly, something soft and light in his voice, “You like music.”

Dean laughed, “Yeah, it’s soothing.”

Castiel nodded, “I have only heard the music in heaven.”

“Yeah?” Dean wasn’t curious about heaven, it wasn’t going to be where he went when he died but Castiel’s tension was slowly easing as he spoke about his home, “What kind?”

Castiel hummed softly, something soft and melodic. Dean didn’t recognize it but he felt calmed by the music. Memories of his mother signing him to sleep flashed through his mind. The image was interrupted by his ringtone. Castiel jumped in shock as the muffled notes of ‘Smoke on the Water’ began to play.

“Bobby?” Dean cleared his throat, forcing the feelings down.

“Dean, are you okay?” Bobby sounded concerned, fatherly, “How did the angel thing go?”

Dean glanced at the angel, “Um, not successful. He couldn’t get back into heaven.”

There was a moment of silence on both ends. Castiel clearly deflated in the passenger seat, shoulders slumping forward. Dean felt a heavy sadness watching the angel and he wondered how a simple car ride had made Dean so attached to the angel. Bobby cleared his throat, “So...”

“So, he’s traveling with me.”

“Good,” Bobby coughed, “Maybe he can help on this mission.” There was a shuffle of papers before Bobby started speaking again, “There’s a bunch of weird disappearances at a carnival in Indiana, I know your close.”

“Bobby,” Dean sighed, “Are there demon signs? Random thunderstorms?”

Castiel sat up straight and turned to Dean, “Dean.”

“Well,” Bobby hesitated, “No, but you’re the closest hunter.”

“No, Bobby.”

“Dean,” Castiel’s hand was on his own, wrapping around Dean’s wrist. It burned right to his veins and caused his dick to harden just slightly, “Let’s go.”

Dean gave the angel and strange look which Castiel held until Dean turned back to the road. He sighed audibly into the phone, “Okay Bobby, where is it?”

*

In a small college town in Indiana, several greek Coeds were disappearing in a poof of a fairy dust. Most had yet to be returned but one apparently had returned, dressed as a slutty clown. Dean and Castiel found him at the bar, “You don’t understand, man. It was awful.” The hulky football player took a shot, “There was just hands groping me and they dunked me in a toilet!”

Dean tried to hid a snicker but Castiel, yet to understand social interactions, “Why would they ‘dunk’ you where feces go?”

The hulky man blushed heavily and clutched his giant hand in a fist, “Man, the fuck is your problem?”

Dean felt himself moving closer to Castiel, covering him and putting space between him and the college student, “Hey, he’s just asking a question.” He patted Castiel’s leg who blushed heavily and pulled away, “Let’s just move on, after the swirly what happened?”

The man coughed, glaring at Castiel but he settled back into his chair, intimidated by Dean, “I just woke up on the front lawn of my house, dressed like...that.”

“Do you know anyone who would want to do this to you?” Dean frowned, “Something that maybe that wants you embarrassed?”

“Something?”

“He means a demon or a ghost.” Castiel leaned forward, face serious.

“What?” The man frowned.

Dean waived it off quickly, “Never mind,” He turned to Castiel with a glare, “We’re heading out. Thank you for your time.”

He dragged Castiel outside with a huff, “Okay, you have to be subtle if you’re going to help me.”

Castiel frowned, “Subtle?”

Dean sighed, “Yeah, no demon talk, or angel talk for that matter. Okay?”

Castiel nodded in agreement and squared his shoulders, “What do we do next?”

“Well, we interview and then we research.”

There next person of interest was a student from the tech club. According to the jock’s fraternity brothers, this Jason was a favorite for the bully.

“He deserved whatever he got.” The man was scrawny with large sunglasses and a poor excuse for fashion sense. Long story, short, Dean would have picked on this guy, “I don’t know what he was smoking but I’m glad it ended up that way. He can finally feel what he put Ryan through.”

“Ryan?” Dean leaned forward. The boy blushed eyes following the sleek lines of Dean in a suit. Castiel stiffened beside him and leaned closer to Dean.

“Uh, yeah,” The boy glanced at Castiel and coughed, “We all went to high school together and Ryan was...he was their favorite target.”

Dean rubbed his head, “The kids that are missing.”

“Yeah all of them liked to pick on him.” He shrugged, “Until he couldn’t take it anymore. He hung himself...our senior year.”

Castiel leaned towards Dean, “A ghost?”

“Did they give him swirlys and dressed him up in drag?” Dean watched the confusion across the boy’s face.

“No. Just wedgies and maybe a nude photo.” Jason shrugged, “And well, it may have gotten out that we were dating.”

Dean nodded trying to hide his blush, “Oh, well. Um....”

“Where is he buried?” Castiel growled.

The boy frowned, “Um back home in Indianapolis. He was cremated too.”

“So he’s not a ghost.” Castiel turned to Dean, “We should keep investigating.”

“Ghosts?” Jason raised an eyebrow.

Dean laughed, “Never mind, he’s had way to much to drink. We’ll just go now, thank you.” Jason nodded and waived them off. Dean sighed as he steered Castiel away from people, “Cas...”

The angel pouted, “I don’t like this subtly thing.”

Dean sighed, “Alright, alright, let’s just go find this monster and gank it.” Castiel nodded and followed Dean off campus. They passed a small dinner on their way to the motel, “Hey Cas, are you hungry?”

The angel shrugged, “I don’t need food, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean sighed and guided Castiel by the shoulders. On the side of the building was a sign that said ‘best pancakes in town’. Dean hummed happily, “Pancakes sound good.”

The moment they stepped through the doorway, Dean recognized that they were not inside a local diner. The large room was filled with bright lights and cages made out of candy. Immediately to their left was a man in a cheerleader’s uniform crying. To their right was a woman with a beard.

“Help me!” She wailed, “He gave me a beard!”

Dean frowned, “What the hell?”

“Dean,” Castiel stepped closer to him, latching onto his wrist, “I believe that we stepped into an alternate universe.”  
 “Dammit, again?!” Dean sighed. He stepped closer to the angel, “Just stick close to me.”

“Awe, isn’t that sweet.” A cocky voice called from beyond the darkness, “I’ll protect you Cassie.”

The angel flinched, “You should stand behind me Dean.”

Dean stood his ground, pulling out his gun from behind him, “Not a chance.”

“Someone’s got a little boyfriend,” A short, stalky figure appeared from beyond the darkness. As he stepped into the light he appeared older. His light hair was messy, he light eyes wide and full of mirth. He watched Castiel with a knowing grin, “Hi Castiel.”

Castiel stood straight and clenched his hand, “Gabriel?”

The angel waived happily, “Hello little brother, How’d you end up down here,” He glanced at Dean, “With a human.”

Castiel stepped forward, “Gabriel, you should let these humans go.”

The man frowned then raised his hand. He sighed and snapped loudly. The room faded into an empty store front, “You’re no fun. And you’re ruining my job.”

“You’re job.” Dean snarled, “Locking innocent kids up then dumping them on campus.”

Gabriel’s honey gold eyes turned on Dean, “Yeah, hunter, teaching the dumb witted a lesson. It’s what I do.”

“Dean,” Castiel huffed, “This is my lost brother, Gabriel.”

“Not lost,” Gabriel sighed, approaching Castiel, “Just misplaced myself for awhile. How about you? Shaking up with humans now?”

“I fell.” Castiel responded quietly.

Gabriel laughed loudly and patted both Castiel and Dean on the back, “Congratulations you two. It’s about time my little brother sowed his wild oats. Didn’t think you’d do it with a hunter, but I see the appeal.”

Dean blushed, “He meant literally fell, you dick. He didn’t fall for me.”

There was a pause, a moment of silence as the angels seemed to deflate. Dean wondered about that but shook it off. Gabriel turned to Castiel, “I fell to Earth after something shook heaven and I can’t get back.”

Gabriel nodded, “Ah, you mean when the Gate opened.”

“The gate?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel laughed and conjured up some fruity drink in a fancy glass, “The gates of Hell. That usually shakes up Heaven and then they close the doors for awhile. You’re stuck down here.”

“There has has to be a way he can get back,” Dean frowned, “Like pray to Daddy or something?”

Gabriel snorted, “Oh silly human. No, we can’t pray to Daddy.” Gabriel paused and looked back at Castiel, “But if you bring one of his lost little lambs home, they’ll let you back in.”

“What?” Dean frowned, “Look, I’m sick of the riddles, what are we suppose to do?”

Gabriel patted Dean on the shoulder, “I like you, you’re funny. Cassie here has to rescue an innocent soul from hell and ferry it to heaven. Then he’ll be welcomed back.”

“Oh.” Dean looked between the two, “That’s all?”

**Chapter Three.**

Dean sighed as he drove along the winding backroads of East Kentucky. The low rumblings of Waylon Jennings hung heavy between him and Castiel who sat quietly in the passenger seat. The mission was suddenly real, suddenly terrifying. The first had to find a demon who knew how to get back and forth through hell, including how to get travelers out. And then they had to go into hell, Dean wasn’t sure he was prepared for that.

He looked to Castiel and felt fearful. He sighed heavily, “You know, you don’t have to do this. I mean, Earth isn’t that bad.”

“I miss my home.” Castiel muttered, “I miss my brothers and sisters.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughed lightly, “You probably have some hot little angel waiting for you at home right? A little angel wife and some cloud rats?”

The angel frowned at him, “I...I do not have a mate, Dean.” He blushed lightly, “I never had occasion.”

Dean blushed, “Oh...oh...”

They were quiet again, Dean was too afraid of the images in his head, the thought of Castiel having never been touched. Something very deep down inside of Dean was thankful that Castiel was a virgin, that same place found it incredibly hot. He swallowed the heat down though and returned to the dark road.

“Um...” Dean rolled his shoulders, “So, how about we stop at a bar and get you some ass?”

Castiel frowned at Dean, “I don’t understand that reference, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “You know, show you a good time with a woman.”

The angel shook his head in response, “I don’t believe I enjoy women as much as you do, Dean.”

“Then a dude, whatever.” Dean shrugged, “Didn’t know God was okay with that.”

“He is indifferent to sexual orientation.” Castiel said with all seriousness, blue eyes boring into Dean, “He encourages love, Dean.”

“Alright, alright.” Dean laughed, “I’m sorry for offending the nerdy angel. Do you want to go to a bar or not?”

Castiel tilted his head to the right, staring at Dean softly, “I don’t need a bar, Dean. But thank you.”

Dean nodded, “Okay, straight to the Demon then.”

Dean turned down a gravel road and drove until they made it to a crossroads. Dean took out the proper supplied while Castiel marked an invisible symbol on the ground. Dean buried the summoning box in the ground and waited.

They leaned against the impala and waited for the demon. Dean watched Castiel’s fingers pressed against the warm metal of the hood. His eyes traveled up Castiel’s slim body, hidden by the boxy trench coat. He plucked at it, “Ever thought of taking this off?”

Castiel blushed, “I do not have any other clothes.”

Dean blushed, “Well, okay.”

“Isn’t this romantic.” A deep, british voice called from across the way. Standing underneath a single lamp post was a stout man in a fancy suit, “Hunter, Angel, fancy meeting you at these crossroads.”

“Who are you?” Dean stood up.

The man laughed, “I suppose I’m your informant. The name is Crowley, I’m,” He waived his hand in the air, eyes glowing red, “King of the Crossroads.”

Castiel stood up and flicked his hand, a sword appearing in his grasp. Dean pulled out a gun, careful to keep the colt hidden in his jacket pocket, “We need your help.”

He chuckled, “I know,” He shrugged, “You don’t have to whip out the weaponry. I’ll go quietly.”

Castiel frowned, “How do we get to hell?”

Crowley laughed, “Selling your soul, idiot.”

Castiel’s bright blue eyes narrowed, “How?”

Crowley shrugged, “Make a deal with a demon for passage to hell.”

Castiel appeared in front of Crowley, holding a silver blade to his neck, “How about I make you. What do you say for that?”

Crowley rolled his eyes and placed two fingers against the sword. He pushed the sword away from his neck, “Yes, I’ll take you to hell. But you have to do me a favor. Think of it as a bargaining chip.”

“What?” Dean stepped forward, feeling lost with Castiel so far away, “I won’t give you my soul so ask for something else.”

“Not your soul,” Crowley chuckled and glanced at Castiel, “Someone seems to already claim that. What I want is this angel blade.”

“Why?”

“No business of angels,” Crowley chuckled, “I’ll even give you guys an out before I take the sword.”

Castiel pulled away, back to Dean’s side, “Why are you helping us? You know what we have to do.”

Crowley shrugged, “I’ve got my reasons for needing a blade that killed demons. And maybe I feel a little charitable.”

“Okay,” Dean sighed, “So we go, now.”

Crowley looked down at the markings around the ground, “Maybe you should break that seal first.” Dean sighed and crossed dirt over the markings. He stepped up to the two and took Castiel’s hand in his. Castiel pressed his free hand into Crowley’s shoulder and gestured for him to move. The man laughed, “Hang on to your knickers.”

Hell was like a cave, mostly dark and filled with dank smells. Shadows flowed in and out of Dean’s sight, figures made of pure darkness and cold. Crowley seemed to slither about as he walked forward, pressing against moving walls, “Welcome to hell, boys.”

Dean turned to Castiel and found him as pure white light, bright and distracting. He gripped Castiel’s ethereal hand, “Cas?”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was melodic, soft tinkling bells that turned to harsh ringing in Dean’s ears, “Let’s go.”

Dean and Castiel walked forward, passing the shadowy figure of Crowley, “You get an hour.”

“Thank you.” Castiel nodded and they moved forward, Castiel just a bit ahead of Dean.  
 “So, what soul are you going to chose?” Dean tried to make conversation as they walked around a winding hallway. The walls breathed against them, moving underneath Dean’s shoulder. In the distant they could hear crying, painful and wet sounding. 

“I do not know.” Castiel shrugged, “I will find one soon and we can return to Crowley.” Castiel paused in front of a dark door. He pressed a hand against the door and smiled softly, “This one.”

Dean snorted and turned to the door across from them. He could hear talking, muffled and soft. He walked towards the door and opened it. Behind the door was a hunched figure in worn clothing. There was a mess of dark hair that shifted as the body turned around. Dean was face to face with his father, aged with pain, “Dad?”

There was a soft light in his eyes, one of recognition and joy before they dulled into rage, “Stop pretending you Demon bitch!”

He ran at Dean, hands stretched out to strangle him, Castiel was at his side, pushing Dean’s father away. He wrapped his arms over his eyes to block out the light. Castiel turned to Dean, “Are you alright?”

“That’s,” Dean gasped, “That’s my Dad! Cas, we have to save my Dad!”

Dean stepped closer to the man, pulling Castiel along beside him, “Dean I don’t think its a good idea.”

“Dad,” Dean called, “Dad its Dean, the real Dean. I’m here with an angel, we’re here to take you to heaven, to Mom.”  
 John Winchester stood in the shadows of his moldy jail cell, watching the angel quietly, skeptically, “How do I know you’re Dean?”

“You know everything about me, Dad.” Dean frowned, stepping forward, “I’m real.”

John looked at Dean, eyes filled with hope he stepped forward, “They do a terrible impression of you anyways.” Dean grinned and fell into John’s hug. They squeezed each other tightly. John pulled away but not before whispering into Dean’s ear, “You look happy.”

Dean tried not to blush, “Come on, let’s go.”

John frowned, “To heaven? Dean, I can’t. I made a deal.”

“What? Seriously, Dad you made a deal to save me.” John smiled softly at Dean’s worried expression. He gripped Dean’s shoulder tightly, eyes full of joy and pride. Dean hadn’t seen much of that expression in his lifetime and he was sure he didn’t deserve it now. Not with so many failures racked up.

“Dean, I’m here where I belong.” John sighed, “Maybe someday, I can go to Heaven. But someone else is here that deserves your rescue.”

“Dean...” Castiel muttered quietly, “We have to go.”

“Dad...”

John smiled sadly, “You did everything you could, Dean. You deserve something much better than what I gave you. Save your brother and move on with your life.” He squeezed Dean’s shoulder again, “I’m proud of you.”

Dean smiled softly and patted his father on the shoulder. They left the jail cell and shut the door quietly, John’s face still smiling softly. Castiel led Dean to the first jail cell, the door half opened already. Inside the cell was a hunched over figure, hiding from the light of Castiel.

“This one.” Castiel approached the figure, touching the shoulder gently, “This is the innocent.”  
 The figure was suddenly on their feet, towering over Castiel and throwing his fists in the air. Dean stepped in front, taking hold of familiar wrists. Castiel’s light revealed Sam’s face, beaten and broken.

“Sammy?” Dean choked, “Sam, is that you?”

“Dean?” Sam snapped out of it, eyes finding Dean, clear of fear and anxiety. His large hands took hold of his older brother’s face, “You’re real?”

“Yeah, man.” Dean tried not to cry, “I’m real. And we need to get you out of here.”

Sam frowned, eyes turning to Castiel then back to Dean, “What?”

“Look,” Dean sighed, “Long story short, this is Cas, he’s an angel and we have to get your soul up to heaven so he can go home.”

“Oh...okay,” Sam stumbled forward, following Castiel and Dean down the hallway that led to Crowley, “You must have been busy while I was gone.”

Dean laughed, “Yeah, yeah. It’s been hell up there.”

Crowley was waiting at the end of the hallway, his shadowy form bloody, “We have to go now.”

Castiel took hold of Dean then Crowley while Dean gripped Sam tightly. One minute, the cries of hell were echoing around them, the next they were at the crossroads in Kentucky, Castiel weaponless and Crowley gone. 

Sam stood next to his breath, a broad grin across his large face. His stretched his limbs out wide, feeling the freedom of the Earth again. Dean smiled softly, “I guess this is goodbye, you two.”

Sam frowned, a sadness weighing him down, “Dean...I...”

“Sam, I’m sorry I let you down.” Dean rolled his shoulders, dispelling the weight of grief, “It was my job to keep you safe and I failed.”

“Dean,” Sam took his brother’s shoulders in his large hands, just barely passing through them, “You did everything you could for me. I love you, man.”

“Thanks Samantha.” Dean laughed and turned to Castiel. The angel smiled softly, a look of adoration across his features. Dean just felt hollow, “It was good meeting you. Maybe I’ll pray to you once or twice.”

Castiel’s smile turned bashful, “I would like that. Thank you, Dean.”

Dean hugged his brother tightly and rubbed at his head then approached the angel. Everything in him was reaching for the angel, hoping to grasp onto him for just a little longer. He laughed at himself, “You could...always visit.”

“That may be difficult, Dean.” Castiel stepped closer, leaning into Dean’s space, “Please take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

Castiel nodded once, a final movement and then turned to Sam. He took Sam’s hand gently, gripping it between both of his. He closed his eyes and slowly became enveloped in light. Dean shut his eyes, fighting back the tears. When the light was gone, he was alone at the crossroads in the middle of Kentucky. He kicked at the dirt, waiting for the possibility that they would come back. When they didn’t Dean made his way back to the car.

He turned on his baby and sat in the dark, listening to John Fogerty crone. He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him. In the dead of night, alone in the middle of nowhere, Dean felt relaxed. His muscles unwound, his head cleared of thought and something light filtered into his heart. Dean was finally content.

He started up his car, rolled down his windows, and turned up the CCR.

**Epilogue**

The open road was different in daylight. Kansas in the summer was refreshing but still hot and dusty. Dean didn’t mind so much. He’d just rounded out a few ghost attacking in North Carolina and was making the long trip to Bobby’s house. 

The Who was a soft, gentle voice in the background of Dean’s life. He focused on the fading words and soft piano but mostly it was the wide, open, lonely road. The sun hit just right that shadows played across the road, the distant trees appearing longer than they really were. Dean took a deep breath of the hot air and smiled.

It was still hard to smile, still rough to look over a the passenger seat and not see anyone. But Dean has his music, his car, and a purpose in life. There were days that were rough but the happy memories filled up the spaces between moments and the thought that Sammy was happy, finally having the life he deserved, it was enough to get up in the morning.

He tried not to think of Castiel, out of fear the angel would hear his thoughts. So he thought about heaven in general and left the memory of Cas for the most private of moments. He felt, light, free, something deep inside him stitching itself back together, healing.

The sound of the wind breaking against the car sounded like the flapping wings of birds. The wide space between him and the passenger door suddenly felt not so spacious. The air around him turned electric and warm. His thoughts became clear, his heart beat just a little faster. And when he turned, a blinding smile broke out against his face.

“Hello Dean.”

“Hey Cas.”


End file.
